July 10, 2009
"No one laughs at God in a hospital." Oh Regina. Why did you have to go and say the "h" word, especially when I'm worn out and ready for bed? When I'm raw? And so here I go . . .
My sister would like this CD. My sister. The hospital. She came when I asked her to. "Do you want more ice chips Abby?" I wasn't allowed to eat. My PIC line pumped the milk-like food to my heart. If I could see a bag of TPN now, I would stab it with a knife and throw it across the room. I would kick it and tear it to shreds. But you get that it wasn't about the bag of TPN, right? I couldn't feed myself the ice chips. My fingers were too swollen. I couldn't hold on to anything. My hands were too shaky anyway.
That big chair that I lived in. I sat in that big green plastic chair draped with blankets because I wasn't strong enough to get myself and the 100 pounds of fluid I was carrying out of a laying position when I had to go to the bathroom. From the chair, someone could take hold of my hands and hoist me up.
The helplessness. Ugh. Thanks Regina. I had almost forgot.
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This triggered a memory for me...When my sister (in-law) was in the hospital she couldn't reach her feet. My brother used to paint her toenails. But once, just once she let me do it. At first she refused because she hated feet - thought them so repulsive that she could not imagine inflicting her feet on me. But I insisted that I did not feel that way about her feet, and that I WANTED to paint her toenails for her. It seemed so natural to me - shouldn't sisters paint each other's toes anyway? It was during the last year of her life, and it remains an especially sweet memory for me. I can only hope that she felt it as love, and not shame.
ReplyDeleteThank you Abby. In sharing your difficult memory, you reminded me of a precious one.